


The Maiden of the Tree

by imagineagreatadventure



Series: The Progress [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, One Shot, Prince Gendry, Prompt Fill, Slow Burn, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineagreatadventure/pseuds/imagineagreatadventure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The betrothal of Arya Stark and Prince Gendry Baratheon has set many tongues wagging.</p><p>Which only makes Arya hate the betrothal more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maiden of the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Gendrya prince gendry AU "i love you but i don't wanna be queen."
> 
> I combined this with another prompt I got which was “Gendrya "You be my forest love and I your forest lass”.

Arya had heard of the Prince but didn't care to meet him.

He was supposed to be tall, dark, and handsome, or so Sansa and Jeyne giggled when they heard that King Robert was coming to Winterfell with his entire court behind him.

There were two other Princes too, Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, who were as golden as their mother, and there was a Princess who was supposed to be more beautiful than the sun.

And then there was Arya Horseface. She was fourteen years old now yet she still felt like a stupid little girl, especially standing next to Sansa, who towered over Arya. Sansa was a full woman now, already betrothed to Willas Tyrell, although that didn’t stop her from fluttering her eyelashes at one of the knights who passed by.

Arya shook her head but grinned at her sister. Their spats were less dangerous now that they were grown, but that didn’t stop them from butting heads. Their father still hid from the room when they began a fight, and even Robb would pretend to duck his head for cover, laughing until Arya and Sansa aimed their anger at him.

Robb was looking nervously at the gate and Arya pitied him. It was suspected by nearly all that he was to be married to Princess Myrcella, although their father said nothing.

Bran and Rickon stood beside Arya, both laughing about something although Arya could sense their mother’s glare. They stiffened, although both still had a smile on their face.

“Here he comes,” Arya heard Sansa breathe as the King’s carriage door opened.

And there he was.

Fat and ugly.

If Arya had been a little bit younger, she probably would have muttered something along those lines, but now she just watched the proceedings with a frown, as her father and the King greeted each other like brothers.

The Queen looked miserable, her eyebrows raised in perfect symmetry, but still she glided out the door and faked a smile.

Arya watched as the next two figures came out, all who looked like their mother, excepting their smiles as they were beaming at Winterfell. Princess Myrcella in particular was as beautiful as reputed and she shyly smiled at Robb, who grinned back.

Then the other Princes hopped out, one as bright as daylight and one as dark as night, both handsome, causing Sansa to gasp a little and, Arya was amused to notice, turn a little red.

Although Arya couldn’t blame Sansa entirely, they were both handsome men, although one looked stronger than even Robb and the other looked as if he only pretended to play at swords.

The Queen’s eyes scanned them both and Arya wondered if she mistook the look of distaste as the Queen looked at Prince Gendry.

Suddenly the King was beside her greeting Sansa kindly and Arya realized it would soon be her turn. She faced forward and tried to wait patiently but her gaze was met by Prince Gendry who smiled at her.

She was then startled when the same shade of blue eyes in a much fatter face launched in front of her, “So, I hear you practice sword fighting.”

“Water dancing,” Arya automatically corrected before flushing. Sansa was probably horrified that she corrected the King.

But the King laughed so loudly that he had to grip his stomach, “Water dancing? Is that what you call it? Either way,” he said, sobering up but still smiling, “I’d be interested in see what you could do.”

Arya swallowed. She had not been expecting to demonstrate her skills while the King visited. Everyone had said this wouldn’t happen. She looked towards her father who smiled at her and so she nodded at the King.

His blue eyes were serious, “You really are just like her,” he sighed, before moving on to Bran.

Arya wished she could stick her tongue out at him. She hated when people said things like that.

But she wasn’t a child any longer.

* * *

 

She hated Prince Joffrey. He was so rude and stupid and -

Arya wished she could kick the stupid tree, with its stupid face glaring at her, judging her.

But she heard what he said about Winterfell! She heard it all. He was awful and she wished he would go away.

“What are you doing?” an unfamiliar voice asked as Arya angrily paced around the Godswood, muttering to herself.

She looked back at the entrance, where Prince Gendry stood, looking amused.

“Your brother is an arse,” Arya declared, not caring about any of Septa Mordane’s rules at the moment, “And for all I know, you might be an arse too!”

“A royal arse,” he corrected, “And I hope you aren’t talking about Tommen. He’s considered the sweetest boy in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“No, not Tommen!” she seethed.

“And you shouldn’t say the other name. He’s mother’s favorite,” the Prince warned, glancing at the water, “Is this cold?”

“Touch it and find out,” Arya dared.

He looked as if he was going to decline but suddenly smiled and took off the linen shirt he was wearing.

“What’re you doing?” Arya squeaked, but still stared him down. She had seen naked chests before, and even naked men, but his chest…

“Finding out.”

He jumped in and  _Arya cursed him, herself, the Old and the New_ , and ran over to the edge so she could pull him out.

“You’re so stupid,” she said, reaching for his bare, shivering arm. The rest of him was shivering too and even a little blue.

Arya sighed which made him laugh, “C’mon stupid you need to get warm.”

“Did you just call your Prince stupid?”

“Yes.”

Prince Gendry smiled at her and Arya suddenly felt very embarrassed, “You’re the one who dared me.”

“Oh shut up,” she snapped, misliking his grin, “And get inside.”

* * *

The men were going on a hunting trip. Bran groaned because he was being forced to go - Arya guessed he really wanted to climb up and down Winterfell and see all the tents, but Father wasn’t having it, dragging Bran and Robb and Rickon, not that Robb or Rickon needed to be dragged.

Rickon was excitedly spewing about how he was going to kill loads of boars and bears, grinning at Arya. He could sense her jealousy and it made Arya annoyed.

“Just don’t get yourself killed,” she said, almost spitefully, although she wished she hadn’t as soon as she said it.

But he was too young to go hunting. He was only seven! He probably wouldn’t be able to kill even a rabbit.

Arya was old enough, older than him and Bran, but no, she had to stay and talk with Princess Myrcella, who was still rumored to end up becoming Robb’s wife. Sansa was excited by the thought, she enjoyed the Princess’ company, not that Arya didn’t but…

Arya wanted to be out riding not sitting in the solar talking of mindless things and pretending to sew.

Rickon laughed, “You wish you were going! But you’re a girl so you can’t!”

If she had been two years younger, she would have throttled him.

But something else startled Rickon from his expression, although he was still smiling, “Prince Gendry!”

“Don’t stop on my account. You were saying something about how Lady Arya can’t go hunting with us…” Prince Gendry trailed off. Arya itched to look behind her and see his expression but kept staring at Rickon instead.

Rickon looked embarrassed, “Well, she’s a girl.”

“Some girls go hunting,” Gendry said.

“Yeah but not ladies,” Rickon said.

Arya snorted.

“I don’t know about that,” Prince Gendry said, “Isn’t there a Northern house filled with ladies who hunt.”

“House Mormont,” Arya said, half-impressed with herself despite it being an easy answer. Sansa was the one who was good at Houses, not Arya, “They’re half-bear,” she informed Gendry.

“Well, why can’t you come along on the hunt then? If it’s a northern tradition,” he said.

Arya bit her lip, hating herself for her words, “I don’t think anyone would approve.”

“Ugh,” Rickon said, “You can’t go, you’re not supposed to!”

“See,” Arya said.

“I’m the Prince.”

“And your Father is the King, and I don’t think he’ll like this very much.”

“I think your Aunt must’ve hunted at least once. She was the Wolf Maiden.”

 _Lyanna_? Arya scrunched her face, “She was a horse rider not a huntress. And in any case, I don’t think my Father would like that comparison.”

The Prince watched her with those very blue eyes and suddenly Arya felt almost old. Almost pretty.

But the moment broke when Rickon spoke, “Don’t we need to go soon?” He asked this quickly as if he was afraid of saying anything at all. The Prince smiled at him, “Yes, we can go, little lord Rickon.”

Rickon’s smile was toothy as Prince Gendry indicated that he should lead the way. They left Arya by herself, but Gendry looked behind once and she smiled at him.

_For some stupid reason._

* * *

Sansa sat beside Arya on the bed.

“You’re to be Queen.”

_I don’t want to be._

Arya faced Sansa. Her older sister looked worried for her, her pretty Tully eyes wide with anxiety. “I thought Myrcella was going to marry Robb, not that I was going to marry…” Arya said.

“He’s kind,” Sansa pointed out, grasping Arya’s hand, “And handsome.”

“I know,” Arya said, “But I’d be a terrible queen.”

Sansa was quiet, “I think it’s because you look like Lyanna.”

“I hate her,” Arya said, surprised to hear how much anger was pouring out “I hate her so much. Who gets stolen?”

“We do,” Sansa replied, sounding sad, “You’re getting stolen by the Baratheons, I’m stolen by the Tyrells.”

Arya pulled her hand away from her sister’s, “That’s different.”

“Maybe,” Sansa acquiesced, “But sometimes I don’t know.”

Arya glanced at Sansa. “I thought you wanted to marry Willas.”

“I do, I think. But it is not as if I made the choice. Father did, and Mother, I suppose.”

“It will be good, we’ll be uniting the North and the South. Robb and Willas will be brothers-in-arms if there ever is war - they shall not fight each other.”

“And that’s why you’re marrying him?”

Sansa smiled, “No I’m marrying him because I’m supposed to.”

“Well fuck that.”

“Arya!” Sansa said, scandalized but Arya paid her no mind.

“This is stupid and I’m not doing it.”

“But you can’t say no to the King!”

“I can and I will,” Arya stated, hopping out of the bed. She was grateful that her braids were still done nicely as she examined herself in the mirror.

“But,” Sansa’s mouth was opening and closing almost looking like their mother’s sigil - a trout, “I thought you liked Prince Gendry.”

“He’s fine,” Arya replied stiffly, “And good-looking but I don’t want to be anyone’s wife.”

“You’ll have to be! You can’t just sit at home in Winterfell. You’ll have to dedicate your life to something if you don’t intend to be a wife.”

“I’ll dedicate it to water dancing.”

Sansa’s voice grew louder, “I meant to the Gods, Arya!”

“Can you imagine me as a Septa?”

“That’s my point!”

“WELL THEN CAN YOU IMAGINE ME AS QUEEN?” Arya’s voice shook. “You should be Queen not me!”

“Well you’re going to be!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Girls?” a head poked out and for a wonderful moment, Arya thought it was Jon Snow, back from the Wall, but it was just her Father. “What are you doing? I could hear you down the hall…”

“Arya refuses to marry Prince Gendry,” Sansa tattled. Arya grabbed a pillow and threw it at Sansa’s head. It hit Sansa’s red hair and mussed her braid.

“Oof.”

“Arya,” Father admonished, but Arya didn’t care.

“You didn’t even ask me!”

“No one asked the Prince either,” their father said. “No one asked your Mother or me. What are your mother’s words?”

Arya refused to say them, “If you believed that you wouldn’t make me go! I’m not supposed to be a Queen.”

“Then what are you supposed to be?”

“A warrior, an adventurer -“

“You could be a warrior Queen, like Nymeria,” Sansa pointed out, “You even named your direwolf after her.”

Arya glared but Sansa didn’t wither from it.

“Arya, the King wants to join our houses in blood.”

“Then give him Robb’s!”

“He wants a Stark to be Queen.”

_It was about Lyanna then._

Arya couldn’t bear to look at her father and his kind grey eyes and so she rushed past him, ignoring Sansa’s calls.

She went to where she knew she’d find peace.

* * *

The direwolves were huddled in the Godswood, all but Ghost and Grey Wind. Ghost was with Jon on the Wall, hopefully protecting him, while Grey Wind was probably by Robb’s side.

Arya wondered if he was disappointed that he wouldn’t be marrying the Princess.

“Nymeria,” she whispered, and Nymeria came to her. The direwolf licked Arya’s face and Arya almost smiled.

Summer and Shaggydog watched from afar but didn’t come to Arya. Lady did though, looking pristine and clean and beautiful, kissing Arya once before wandering forward on the path to Winterfell.

Arya wondered if Lady was to go with Sansa to Highgarden and then with a pang wondered if she could bring Nymeria to King’s Landing.

No, she wouldn’t go. She couldn’t go.

Tears poured out of her as Arya gripped Nymeria, pressing her face against Nymeria’s fur and breathing in.

“My lady?” she could hear someone ask in a whisper.

A hand was pressing on her back and that only made Arya hold Nymeria tighter. Nymeria wasn’t growling at the stranger so Arya knew she was safe.

Still, she wanted to be alone. “Go away,” she said, or at least tried to say, the sounds were muffled by Nymeria’s fur.

“Arya,” the voice said again, but this time she recognized it as Prince Gendry’s. She tore her face away from Nymeria to glare at him.

“You especially need to go away.”

“No,” he said, his face bullish, “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t! I’m not marrying you! It’s not going to happen!”

“Fine,” he snapped, and even then Nymeria didn’t growl, “But we’re still talking.” He sat down next to her on the ground, dirtying his pants and arse, and placed a hand on Nymeria’s head and lightly scratched the direwolf, who seemed as if she enjoyed it.

“Traitor,” she said to her wolf, and Nymeria just licked Arya’s face.

“My father did this, I didn’t, so you can stop cursing me,” he said.

“But you knew didn’t you!”

Gendry had a guilty face, “I suspected it. Father loves Starks and so we all knew one of us would marry one of you. It was only when I saw you that I knew for sure. Father has told me so much of Lyanna that it was as if I was looking at her when I saw you. Although I can’t imagine she was quite as… spirited as you.”

“Father says she had the blood of a wolf,” Arya said, suddenly feeling defensive of her ill-fated Aunt, “He says I do too.”

“Well, I’m not like my Father,” Gendry said grimly, “And you’re not your Aunt.”

“I think my Father worries that I am sometimes,” she confessed, patting Nymeria’s nose, “And why is your Father so bad? He’s just fat.”

“He’s fat, yes, and he whores around, making bastards left and right… I heard my mother had some of them killed before… once,” Gendry looked ill at the thought, but shook his head, “But those are just rumors I heard from the servants wandering the keep.”

“Your mother had them killed?” And Arya always thought her mother’s dislike of Jon was hateful, “That’s horrible.”

“I don’t know anything for sure, but… you’d be a better queen.”

Arya laughed, spiteful, “So you want me to marry you.”

He surprised her by nodding, “I like you. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You’d like a lot of Northern girls then. Like the Manderlys and the Mormonts. We’re all spirited up North.”

“Even Sansa?” he asked with a peculiar grin.

Arya nodded solemnly, “Especially Sansa.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry you don’t want to marry me, but we have to get married.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“I’ll run off to one of the Free Cities.”

“And do what?”

“Anything I want.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Argh, fine, go and try to get out of it. You’ll find it impossible,” Gendry said, “especially now that your Father is to become Hand.”

Arya didn’t know that bit, “Does that mean Father will be in King’s Landing?”

“Yes, you won’t be alone. And Sansa is to come with us. She’s going to get married to Willas Tyrell there, didn’t she tell you? Everyone but Robb and Rickon are coming to King’s Landing for it.”

“No,” Arya pouted. All anyone had told her was that she was going to marry the crown prince, “Will Joffrey still be there?”

Gendry had a twisted smile, “Unfortunately. But so will Myrcella and Tommen.”

Arya did like  _them._  “I’ll go to King’s Landing,” she announced, pushing herself off the ground. She ignored Gendry’s hand as he silently asked for her help in getting up, “Come Nymeria.”

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Gendry asked, his hand still hanging in the air.

“Help yourself, I’m still not marrying you.”

* * *

The wedding was as pretty as Sansa, although the bedding was as messy as Lord Willas Tyrell’s leg.

Arya left as soon as she could manage, not eager to hear men screech ribald japes about her sister’s looks. She left and walked the Red Keep with Jory Cassel behind her. She supposed her father saw her leave and ordered Jory to keep watch over her. Although she wished that Nymeria could have just been her guard, but no one wanted the wolves out and about during such an important gathering.

But soon she heard more feet and turned to see Gendry and his uncle Jaime, who looked to be guarding him, wearing his gleaming golden armor with the white cape flowing behind him.

“I wasn’t eager to take part,” Gendry explained, when he reached her, “It’d feel odd to see your sister naked.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but didn’t reply, instead, she walked faster, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to keep up. But that was a futile hope, as the prince’s legs were longer than hers, he was more than a head taller, and he matched her with ease.

“What do you want?” she demanded at last, stopping in her tracks and hissing slightly. Arya could hear a cough, and glared at Ser Jaime who looked to be smirking at her remark. She was grateful to see that Jory’s face was placid.

“I wanted to know if you were going to leave now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“To go to Braavos or Essos or Skagos or Dorne - someplace where no one knows you,” Gendry said, sounding irritated, “Wasn’t that your plan?”

Arya shot him a glare, “Don’t be stupid. I’m going home.”

Jory did cough then and Arya threw him a glare too. Men were horrible, she decided.

“Am I really that bad?” Gendry asked, sounding almost hurt.

She groaned, “It’s not about you. I don’t want to be Queen. I couldn’t do what Queen Cersei does, faking smiles all day pretending to give a shit.”

Ser Jaime did laugh then, although quickly turned it into a coughing fit. She would have glared at him again if Gendry wasn’t currently glaring at her, “You can do what you want! You can decide how you want to be Queen. You know your history.”

“And queens do nothing but die and birth babies,” Arya frowned, “I want adventures.” She knew she sounded childish, but she wanted to fight battles, see the Wall and her brother Jon, perhaps try to go to Old Valyria, where the Doom still haunted the waters.

“You can have adventures,” Gendry said.

“No,  _you can_.”

“We can,” he insisted, suddenly reaching for her hand, although he looked as surprised as her when their hands touched.

It felt…  _very good_ , Arya realized, her breath catching, and she was suddenly very embarrassed that Jory and Ser Jaime were there.

“I can’t,” she said, pulling away. “I don’t want to.”

“Fine then neither do I,” Gendry said stubbornly, “but our opinions don’t matter to our families.”

Arya thought of Sansa, who was now a wife and a Tyrell. Arya thought of her mother, who was supposed to marry one Stark but ended up marrying another.

Family, Duty, Honor is what they believed in, yet none of that spoke of the happiness of the family.

“You’re right,” she admitted, “But they matter to me.”

And so she walked off, with Jory trailing behind her.

* * *

When her mother left, Arya was surprised when she didn’t take Bran with her.

“Your father wants him to train as a squire under Ser Barristan,” her mother said, kissing the top of Arya’s head, “He is going to be a knight.”

“I want to be a knight.”

Her mother frowned, “Arya, you can’t be a knight.”

“Lady Brienne of Tarth is,” Arya said, referring to the lady of the songs. She became infamous after winning the Tourney of the Hand as a mystery knight (although the awful Gregor Clegane ‘accidentally’ injured her enough to require the helmet needing removal) causing Ser Loras Tyrell to spit with rage and envy, and Ser Jaime to laugh so hard he almost cried. All the men grumbled, but Arya stood up and cheered when the helmet was removed, making the large woman blush.

Arya wasn’t the only one to cheer as the smallfolk were soon enraptured by the woman, singing songs and creating stories to explain Lady Brienne’s prowess.

Her mother struggled, “That lady is a… special case. And she’s not truly a knight.”

“Sandor Clegane isn’t either.”

“Arya,” her mother’s nostrils flared, “You’re to be Queen, you can’t water dance any longer.”

That was true. Syrio had left as soon as the Starks all left for the Red Keep.

But still Arya tried practicing the techniques by herself with Nymeria watching, her head cocked.

And Arya wasn’t going to be Queen.

However, Arya didn’t want to argue with her mother on their last day together, especially since the next time her mother would come back would be for a Royal wedding that Arya refused to be a part of. “Fine,” she said, “But I’d still like to meet Lady Brienne.”

Her mother smiled then, “I’m sure the Prince can arrange a meeting.”

Arya grimaced, she hadn’t spoken to Gendry since the night of Sansa’s wedding. Other than the typical pleasantries, that was.

She still remembered his touch though and how it simultaneously felt like fire and ice crawling along her insides.

Her mother kissed her once more, “Be good.”

Arya would have cried more if Sansa hadn’t already left for Highgarden, not long after her wedding to Willas. She was still embarrassed at how her sister’s leaving affected her so deeply. But Sansa was her sister who she had hated and loved all at once for so long.

Willas Tyrell was kind and smart and seemed a good match for Sansa, although Arya privately thought he was kind of old and that it was a shame he couldn’t compete in tourneys.

Gendry competed. He had done well in the melee during the Tourney of the Hand although he had been smashed down by Loras Tyrell before Brienne of Tarth had changed the tide of the event. Sansa had looked as if she wasn’t sure if she should cheer for her new brother or the Prince, it amused Arya to see how confused Sansa was until Willas laughed and told Sansa to cheer for who she wished.

That’s when Arya knew she liked Willas Tyrell.

But still Gendry had been a sight until Loras knocked him off in the melee.  Arya heard mutterings of Robert come alive again, and for a moment Arya could understand how King Robert killed Prince Rhaegar if he looked even partially like Gendry did at that moment, with muscles that still somehow gleamed underneath mail and armor, and the power he had when holding the hammer.

His father’s weapon.

Prince Joffrey wasn’t fighting in the melee which amused Arya, considering that if Robb was there, he would have certainly tried. Joffrey wasn’t good at anything other than whining, yet Queen Cersei doted on him as if he was Baelor the Blessed.

After her mother left, with a large portion of Stark men beside her, Arya roamed the halls of the Red Keep. Maegor the Cruel had many secrets built into the Keep and if Arya somehow couldn’t escape her fate as Queen, she wanted to at least find all the secrets before she died.

Once she had found skulls of dragons buried underneath it all. Arya wondered if she could find them again.

Instead she found Gendry. He nodded at her, his jaw rigid, as Prince Joffrey stood beside him, with Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Jaime not far behind them.

How could they share parentage?

They were night and day.

“Lady Arya,” Gendry curtly greeted, although Joffrey sneered at her, not bothering to mask his disdain for her.

“What are you doing?” Joffrey demanded.

“Walking, didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to do that,” she retorted.

“Joffrey leave her be,” Gendry commanded.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Joffrey hissed.

“And I don’t need you to defend me,” Arya said.

Joffrey laughed at her but Gendry glared, “Fine then.”

_“Fine.”_

_“Good.”_

“You two will have such a blessed marriage,” Joffrey smirked, “I’m glad I don’t have to marry the wolf bitch.”

Ser Arys Oakheart spoke up then, “Prince Joffrey that’s not language to use in front of a lady, especially to a lady.”

“This isn’t a lady, this is just a wolf pretending to be one,” Joffrey spat.

Arya thought about punching him, she could take Joffrey, she knew, but probably not the rest of them.

Ser Jaime spoke then, “Joffrey, your mother did want to speak with you.”

Joffrey’s smirk turned sulky then, “Fine, Uncle Jaime.”

They left Arya alone with Gendry and Ser Arys.

And Gendry was still glaring at her.

“What?” she demanded, “What is it now?”

“You haven’t spoken to me in weeks.”

“Well, you haven’t spoken to me in weeks either!”

Ser Arys was looking very uncomfortable but Arya ignored him.

Gendry did not, “You can go, Ser Arys.”

The knight misliked that, “Prince Gendry I cannot leave you two alone.”

“I can guard myself,” Gendry said irritably, placing a palm on the grip of his sword that hung off his waist.

“But who will guard Lady Arya’s honor?”

Arya and Gendry both turned and stared at the knight before busting into laughter that rang through the high ceilings.

“I can guard my own honor,” Arya finally said, when she was able to breathe.

Ser Arys ignored her even when Gendry agreed, “I’m sorry, I should not leave. Your father would -“

“My father wouldn’t care,” Gendry said.

“I meant her father,” Ser Arys stated dryly.

“Oh… yes,” Gendry said sheepishly, “Lord Stark may not like this.”

“He won’t care,” Arya said, folding her arms. She wasn’t sure if she was lying or not, but she didn’t think her father would care.

Ser Arys didn’t budge, “Even so, Lady Arya, I will not move.”

“Fine,” she stated, “Let’s talk of pleasant things so as to not ruin Ser Arys mood. You did well in the melee.”

Gendry’s blue eyes brightened, “You watched me?”

Arya was annoyed to find herself blushing, “You are the prince. But I mostly watched the knight in blue armor.”

“Lady Brienne,” Gendry said, “I did hear you cheer for her when her helmet was removed.”

“She was glorious!” Arya argued, almost sighing at the memory.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you liked her. I could arrange a meeting, if you’d like.”

“You could?”

“Of course,” Gendry smiled.

And that stupid feeling crawled up Arya’s spine again.

* * *

Brienne of Tarth at once seemed taller and smaller in person. Perhaps it was the way her shoulders slouched down as the warrior tried to talk to Arya face to face.

Arya didn’t really care, as she excitedly asked about Brienne’s training methods and where she learned to fight like that and how she convinced her father to let her do this and what the name of her sword was (“ _Mine’s Needle!_ ").

At one point Arya was aware that Brienne was looking at Gendry helplessly, but Gendry just grinned.

“Who do you serve?” Arya asked, after asking her other, much more important questions.

“I serve Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Don’t let Uncle Stannis hear you say that,” Gendry remarked and Brienne turned red.

“Renly is a good lord, a true one, Stannis should know the love we bear for his brother, Prince Gendry.”

“If only Stannis had any love for him,” Gendry said, “But Arya, you met Renly.”

“He was all right,” Arya said, not really caring, “Could you tell me how you were able to enlist in the melee again?”

Ser Jaime, who had been in charge of guarding Gendry on this day, scoffed, “I think you have pestered the wench enough.”

“She’s a lady knight, not a wench!” Arya corrected reproachfully.

“She’s not a knight.”

“We could change that though, could we not, Uncle Jaime?” Gendry asked.

The Kingslayer’s mouth was cruel, “One win in a melee does not make a knight.”

Brienne stood up straight then, “I am willing to die for my Lord, does that not make me a knight?”

“It makes you every sodding person in the Seven Kingdoms. We’re all doomed to fight and die by our lords and kings’ words.”

“Except you,” Arya pointed out rashly, “You killed the King.”

Ser Jaime leveled his gaze at her, “That’s right. I did.”

Gendry broke the silence that was suddenly piercing the air, “Lady Brienne, I think we shall take our leave of you now, but I know Lady Arya would like to see you again.”

Brienne smiled shly, which somehow made her look younger than Arya, “I would like that, if it pleases my prince.”

* * *

“I don’t want to be Queen,” Arya confessed to Brienne one day after they sparred together. Arya had never been so happy to be at King’s Landing. Brienne had been a wonderful addition to the Red Keep, and Arya tried to make it so the woman never left her side. She even begged her father to allow Brienne to be a part of her guard, but he refused on the basis that she was an heir.

And not a boy, which Arya knew was the real reason.

“But you must. Your family’s honor depends on it.”

Arya sighed, “But what about my honor? Why can’t I traverse the Seven Kingdoms fighting bandits?”

“It would be glorious to die fighting in battle,” Brienne sighed. “There are no songs for women dying in their birthing beds.”

Arya hadn’t even thought of that, “I refuse to die like that.”

“But you must honor your Father’s word.”

“Why? I didn’t agree. I never agreed.”

Brienne smiled, “The only way I agreed, after my failed betrothals, was if the man would beat me in one on one combat.”

“And no one did?”

“Not many are eager to marry me in the first place,” Brienne said quickly, as if hiding her hurt, “but no… no one did.”

Arya grinned, “Maybe I should do that.”

“Gendry would beat you.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

Brienne sighed, “You’re out of practice, Arya. And Gendry has been trained all his life.”

“You beat him!”

“I didn’t actually fight him in the melee.”

“You beat Loras who beat him!”

“Arya, he would win.”

That annoyed Arya enough to challenge Gendry the next time she saw him. “I’ll marry you if you beat me in one on one combat.”

He eyed her with skepticism, “I’m pretty sure I would win.”

“No you won’t,” Arya said, confidence buoying her words, “I will.”

He shrugged although he had a smile, “How about we lower the stakes a little. For our first bout - we can always adjust them for our second.”

Arya frowned but agreed, “What would be the stakes.”

“I’ll let you decide,” he said before walking away.

* * *

“You will show me all the secrets you know of the Red Keep,” Arya said, “If I win.”

“I’d do that anyways,” Gendry said, as his Kingsguard helped him with his armor, “Pick something better.”

“I get to name your sword.” When Arya had found out Gendry didn’t name his sword she had been horrified.

“What do I get if I win?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, “You decide.”

He shook his head, and she groaned, “Fine I’ll pick. I’ll wear that stupid dress your mother wanted me to wear at that fancy dinner.”

He laughed, “That’ll be a sight. You actually looking like a lady.”

“I wear dresses all the time!” she snapped. Although, perhaps it wasn’t fair of her to snap, since she had been wearing pants and shifts stolen from Bran in the past weeks, hiding and exploring King’s Landing.

And she was also currently wearing armor.

Her own armor, fitted for her. Gendry had spoken to her father about their duel and at first Arya had thought that he would be angry, but instead, he sighed and looked at her in that peculiar way, and arranged for her to be outfitted in the most beautiful armor Arya had ever seen.

Perhaps he thought if Lyanna had been able to defend herself from Rhaegar that she wouldn’t be dead.

“You know you’ll be wearing that dress,” Gendry said, “You haven’t even fought in armor before.”

“Have so!” she retorted, “Now are you ready or not.”

“I’m ready,” he stated, “But are you?”

Ser Barristan whistled, although it sounded almost disapproving, and the match began.

They had drawn a crowd, most of which were calling out cruel names and japes, but Brienne had told Arya that this would happen, and so she ignored them and focused on watching Gendry.

He tried to feign a hit to her right but his feet told her another story so she moved aside as he tried to hit her left. She moved and spun around, not even attempting to land a hit as he aggressively tried to hit her.

Once it landed on the top of her shoulder but then she smashed his foot with her own, making him back away.

And then she hit him, hard across the chest, which he didn’t expect, almost falling over, and so she hit him again and then jumped aside when he regained his balance.

It was a long battle and Arya was afraid it would never end. Her muscles were tiring from the armor and she was bitter that Gendry was right. The armor was ruining it.

So soon she fell to the ground, with Gendry’s sword pointing at her helmet. “Do you yield?” he asked.

“Fine,” she grumbled and he pulled her up.

Despite losing, there were still a few cheers for her, although she wasn’t exactly fond of the names.

“Wolf Bitch!” one grubby man cheered while another called her by her full name.

“I’m just Arya!” she yelled at them.

“Well, just Arya has to wear a dress,” Prince Gendry smirked, once he removed his helmet. She was pleased to see he looked exhausted.

“I’m still naming your sword,” she informed him.

“And what’s its name?”

She inspected it and then inspected it, “Bull. Because you’re as stubborn as one. And you also move like one when you’re fighting.”

This made even Ser Barristan laugh.

* * *

It was never a good thing to be invited to dine with the Queen.

Especially not when it was just you and her... and Princess Myrcella.

Princess Myrcella was smiling owlishly at Arya who was very uncomfortable in the stupid dress she was wearing.

“Doesn’t Lady Arya look lovely in the dress I picked, Myrcella?” Queen Cersei asked her daughter who nodded. Although Princess Myrcella looked as if she was laughing on the inside, not at Arya, which she appreciated, but at her mother’s choice in dress.

It was too green and too long on Arya and she felt like a weed growing in the stones of the Red Keep.

“So, you are to marry my son. I am sorry we have not had time to speak before this,” Queen Cersei said, her tongue as slippery as a snake’s.

Arya said nothing, not trusting her voice to speak.

“Silent are you? I hear you typically talk too much, although that’s only what Joffrey says.”

Princess Myrcella spoke then, “Joffrey isn’t kind to her, Mother.”

“Joffrey doesn’t need to be kind, he’s the prince.”

“He’s not the prince, he’s a prince,” Arya corrected before she could help herself.

“Ah so the wolf does have a tongue. I see that you already defend Gendry. That is good. Many wives aren’t so quick to do so.”

“I’m not his wife.”

“Not yet,” Queen Cersei said, “And if we both had our way, you wouldn’t marry him. But we are not in charge, that is what men are for.”

Princess Myrcella frowned at her mother, “In Dorne, women inherit.”

“In Dorne they sleep with snakes,” Queen Cersei said, her voice oily, “And fight like snakes. And we are not in Dorne.”

“Father has been talking of sending Joffrey to Dorne,” Princess Myrcella told Arya.

“And that will not happen,” Queen Cersei snapped. “Lord Stark agrees with me.”

Arya was surprised by that. She was fairly sure that her father mistrusted all Lannisters, even the Baratheon Queen, “Why would he be sent to Dorne?”

“To train under a knight. Joffrey never squired like Gendry and Father wants him to.”

“If Joffrey squires it will be under your Uncle’s tutelage, not under some Dornish knight,” Queen Cersei said with loathing.

Princess Myrcella was quiet before she changed the topic, “Who am I to marry, Mother? Shouldn’t my betrothal be arranged by now? And what about Joffrey’s?”

“Joffrey and you and Tommen all have several betrothals awaiting your Father and the Hand,” Queen Cersei said, after a large sip of her wine, “But I shall make sure you go to only the best of men.”

Arya watched the Queen, “And who is the best of men?”

“You are thinking of your brother Robb?” Queen Cersei laughed and Princess Myrcella blushed, “Myrcella would like that. But no, I am not. I do not believe your father is interested in another match between our families. He only agreed to this one because the King begged him for it.”

That was surprising to Arya.

“No, Myrcella shall go home to the Westerlands if I have any say in it,” the Queen swore. She sounded almost drunk, Arya realized.

“And marry a Lannister?” Arya asked. The Princess frowned at that but waited for her mother.

“Cousins do marry cousins, Lady Arya, in fact, weren’t your grandparents cousins?”

Arya couldn’t remember, “Possibly,” she hedged.

Queen Cersei laughed and it was a mocking one, “Possibly indeed.”

“Mother, you don’t intend that I marry Lancel do you?” Princess Myrcella asked with a frown, “I do not care for him - “

“It doesn’t matter what I intend, remember. Only what the men intend,” Queen Cersei said sharply. “Our voices sound like bleating sheep to them when we speak about politics and marriages. We have few weapons.”

“I don’t,” Arya said, “I can fight.”

Queen Cersei sneered, “I heard of your display, you shall not be allowed to do that again, when you are Queen.”

“Queen Nymeria was a warrior Queen,” Arya said defiantly.

“You are no Princess of the Rhoynar. Perhaps you should have been betrothed to a Prince of Dorne rather than my son.”

Princess Myrcella interrupted, “Aren’t the Dornish coming to the wedding?”

Queen Cersei’s green gaze left Arya, “I believe so.”

“That will be exciting,” the Princess said, “if they’re as dangerous as you say.”

Arya smiled at the Princess while the Queen just raised an eyebrow, “They’re more dangerous than words can express. They hate us.”

“Because of what your Father did,” Arya said, trying not to be afraid of the Queen’s gaze.

“He was not the one who killed the little children.”

“But his men were.”

Queen Cersei’s smile glittered in the candlelight, “They were. And that is why no child of mine shall be in Dorne.”

Princess Myrcella frowned and Arya wondered if the Princess dreamed of the sands as Arya did. Dorne seemed so free compared to the rest.

“I’d like to visit,” Arya declared.

Queen Cersei smile grew wider, “Your aunt is the one who displaced their Princess and you look just like the wolf maiden. I’m sure you will be welcome with open arms…”

The threat hung in the air until the Princess spoke, sipping her own wine and sighing, “I wish I could go to Dorne.”

Queen Cersei snapped, “They will hurt you.”

“Maybe, but the Water Gardens sound beautiful.”

“And the history,” Arya said excitedly.

Myrcella grinned, “Prince Doran is supposed to be very wise.”

“The sands!“ Arya chimed.

“The wine!”

“The food!”

“Sand steeds!”

“Enough!” Queen Cersei snapped, her beautiful face marred by her terrible expression, “No more talk of Dorne.”

* * *

Prince Oberyn was the first to arrive for the Royal Wedding, a full month in advance.

He had heard of Arya’s beauty, he said with a bow and a wink, although his eyes seemed sad, and had come to see her for himself.

Queen Cersei grimaced as he said this to Arya, and Arya wondered if she felt ignored. Queen Cersei was still the most beautiful woman in the lands, according to the court and the bards, but more and more attention was being paid to Arya and Princess Myrcella, who both misliked it.

Gendry laughed when he told Arya of a song being sung about her. “They called you the direwolf of dreams,” he cackled.

“Where were you a whorehouse?” she asked, “That’d be the only place a song that stupid would be sung.”

His voice and eyes changed entirely, and he had that stupid bullish look on his face when he said, “And what if I was?”

“Then nothing, you’re a man. You can do things like that,” she lied, angry at herself for being annoyed at the idea of Gendry with a woman.

“Then I’ll go ring some girl’s bells right now,” he retorted, his face looking even stupider and she wondered if she was supposed to pull him aside and beg him not to go but instead she stuck her tongue out at him.

Until he grabbed her tongue with his fingers.

“Let me go,” she tried to say although that was near impossible with her tongue out her mouth.

He understood her though and freed her from his grasp and she glared and he glared and they didn’t speak for a whole day until Arya came up to him in the court and asked to spar later, feeling stupid.

But Brienne was sparring with actual knights now and so Arya had lost her partner, and although she knew Brienne would help her if she asked, Arya didn’t want to take away the other girl’s dream.

So she had to rely on Gendry instead.

They wore little padding this time, and were sparring privately in the Godswood, where no one could see them. There were two Kingsguard outside of it, keeping watch, but neither followed them in, as Gendry had lied and said that he wanted to meet his future wife’s gods.

They didn’t know that Arya was already inside, holding the gear they needed.

“Wooden swords?” Gendry asked.

“I wasn’t going to bring real steel,” she snapped.

Gendry shrugged, and then they fought.

As usual, Gendry beat her soundly, but Arya still held out as long as she could, which made her smile.

“They’re going to wonder what I’m doing for this long,” Gendry said, standing over her as she lay on the ground panting.

“So?”

“I suppose I should leave then. Now that I’ve kicked your arse.”

Arya wasn’t sure what had come over her but suddenly she whined, sounding like Nymeria begging for a treat, “ _No, stay_.”

Gendry dropped to his knees and then laid beside her.

“The trees are beautiful,” she said, looking at how they reached for the sky.

“Not as beautiful as you according to Oberyn Martell,” Gendry stated.

“Ugh.”

“It is what he said in front of the entire court.”

“Your mother didn’t like that.”

“He probably said it to purposefully annoy my mother. There is no love lost between Lannisters and Martells.”

Arya remembered her conversation with the Queen, “I can tell.”

“Arya,” Gendry breathed, “Are you still so very against this betrothal?”

She swallowed, “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I think Prince Oberyn has heard of your frequent outbursts… he’s brought my father some terms.”

Arya wanted to throw up, “Princess Arianne?”

“I believe so.”

“She’ll be a good Queen, from what I’ve heard of her.” Although, admittedly, Arya had heard little about the Dornish princess.

“My father will reject them,” Gendry said, “He desperately wants us to marry.”

“Because you look like him and I look like… _her_.” Arya refused to say her name.

“Because he loves your father, because he likes you, because he likes spiting everyone. I don’t know. But Arya, that doesn’t matter anymore because I want to marry you.”

Tears pricked her eyes.  _Arya Horseface_ , she reminded herself, that’s who you are. You are no beauty.

“Gods damn it, Arya,” Gendry said, and he turned over and kissed her.

Arya kissed him back, running a hand against his growing beard, enjoying the feel of his lips dancing on hers, oh and when he bit her bottom lip, the feeling of ice and fire grew wider somehow, expanding all across her body until she moaned. Which allowed Gendry to slip his tongue in and she grappled with it, as they did when they fought with swords.

But he stopped suddenly and got up, looking disheveled, “Why did you kiss me back if you don’t want to marry me?”

“It’s not you!” Arya said, “You’re not the problem!”

He had the bullish look again, “Then what is the problem?”

She glared, “I will never be Queen.”

“I don’t want to be King, but if I abdicate, Joffrey will become King!” Arya grimaced at the thought and Gendry noticed, " That's right King Joffrey! I can’t become a Maester or a traveling Knight or whatever it is you want me to be for you, I can’t abandon the Kingdom to that.”

“Myrcella should rule,” Arya sighed and Gendry laughed, although it sounded stupid.

“You’re right she should, but she can’t.”

“I’m tired of hearing that word,” Arya snapped, “Women are just as smart and able as men.”

“I know that! But I can’t do anything about it now. Perhaps,” Gendry sounded almost wistful, “if we are King and Queen then maybe -“

Arya shot up from the ground and brushed off the dirt, looking anywhere but at Gendry, “No.”

“Fine,” he snapped, “I’ll marry Arianne Martell.”

_“Good.”_

_“Fine.”_

* * *

Sansa arrived a week before the wedding and found Arya hiding in her room.

“Are you all right?” she asked, “I heard you and Gendry weren’t speaking again.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Arya cried, feeling stupid.

“But you like Gendry, don’t you?” Sansa said, brushing aside her sister’s hair and starting to braid it, “He’s good.”

“You said this before,” Arya reminded her, “And it won’t change my mind. I can’t be Queen.”

“Well, you won’t be Queen yet. You’ll be a Princess.”

That somehow calmed Arya’s fraught nerves, “I forgot.”

“King Robert will live a long life, you’ll see. You’ll be ready for it. And while you wait, you and Gendry can go explore the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa smiled, “You can visit me, or mother and Robb, or Uncle Edmure in the Riverlands. Or perhaps you could go to the Eyrie and see how our Aunt Lysa is doing.”

“Could I go to the Wall do you think?” Arya asked hopefully, thinking of her brother.

Sansa frowned, “I think you could, although you would have to be careful. I know Willas has sent rapers to the wall.”

“Jon would protect me,” Arya said.

“And the Kingsguard,” Sansa said, making Arya scowl.

“I don’t like them. How can a Kingslayer still serve?”

“That’s Gendry’s uncle you’re speaking of.”

“So?”

Sansa sighed, “I don’t know, Arya.”

“Ser Jaime can’t come with us. But I’d want Brienne to,” Arya said, knowing that she sounded like a child, younger than even Rickon, but she didn’t care.

“Fine,” Sansa said, shushing her, sounding almost like a mother, “Now go to sleep.”

“But it’s not even time for supper,” Arya said, yawning.

Sansa smiled again, “Just go to sleep, Arya.”

And so she did, with Nymeria curled up next to her.

* * *

The wedding itself was quick and rather painless, but the feast afterwards… Arya was dying of boredom.

People who she never met or seen in her life congratulated her and said things she knew they didn’t mean, and Gendry just nodded and smiled at them all. Arya didn’t, Arya frowned and tried to scare them off.

She wished Nymeria could have been at the feast, as well as the other direwolves but none were there.

She also wished that Rickon was at the feast but he was at home in Winterfell. She was, however, pleased to see Robb for the first time in months, who smiled and jostled her as if she was still a girl and not a married woman of fifteen.

“Lady Olenna is trying to arrange another marriage between our families,” Robb told her when they danced together, “She wants me to marry Margaery Tyrell.”

Arya vaguely remembered the pretty brunette who had been at Sansa’s wedding, “Why?”

“I’ll be Warden of the North someday, that’s a very good position for an ambitious family like the Tyrells, especially since the Crown Prince is married to a Stark. And the Hand of the King is currently a Stark.”

Arya understood then, “Oh. Will Father accept?”

“I don’t think he wants to, but he also doesn’t seem to like the other options for me. Although he is arranging a marriage between Bran and Lyanna Mormont, so perhaps I’ll also be marrying a Northern lass.”

“We’re the best,” Arya said, preening a little.

Robb smiled down at her, “That you are.”

Gendry danced with her next, for the second time, and she could hear whispers from the older folks on how they looked just like Lyanna and Robert, which made Arya scowl.

“We can go on a Progress, if you really want to,” he said. Arya had told him Sansa’s idea but Gendry had been hesitant, “Although we should probably go South first, we can visit your sister, and Oldtown and Dorne.”

“Your mother would hate that,” Arya grinned.

Gendry grinned back.

Her father was sitting by her table when she returned from the dancing, as she couldn’t bear to do another set, especially when Joffrey was asking for the next round.

Her father smiled at her when she sat beside him, “I’m glad you’ve made your peace with this.”

“I may still run away,” she warned.

“I sense that the Progress that you’ve been whispering about may just be a cover then?”

Arya blushed, “No, I do want to do that. If only so we can go to the Wall and see Jon.”

“It would be a long trip.”

“Good,” Arya said, “I hate court life. All the fake smiles.”

Her father looked upon the dancers and frowned. “I feel the same way,” he whispered. In a much louder voice he said, “It would do you both good to see Westeros as it is. Gendry will be a good King if he pays attention.”

“He doesn’t want to be King.”

Her father’s voice lowered again, “And you don’t want to be Queen, and I don’t want to be Hand. Life is not about what we want, but what we must do.”

She expected him to say her mother’s words but instead he said, “Winter is coming, Arya. And you should go on your Progress before it does.”

“Oh,” Arya said, not expecting that, “We will then.”

“It’s been a long summer. Expect a longer winter.”

* * *

Arya spat at one of the men who tried touching her when the bedding started and tried to bite someone else, making them call out japes about the wolf bitch.

They stopped japing when she kicked one of them in the crotch.

Arya fled into the bedroom then where Gendry was already waiting, close to naked although he seemed to fight off the women’s hands when it came to it.

He stared at her, “I don’t know why I’m surprised that you’re still clothed.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” she snapped.

Outside the door she could hear a singer, “ _My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down_.”

And suddenly, Arya remembered what was supposed to happen, and all of her annoyance went away, and was replaced by nerves.

Awful, horrible nerves.

Gendry seemed to sense this. “There are a ways around this,” he said, “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready. Especially since…”

“I don’t want children yet,” Arya said, “I want to go see the Seven Kingdoms.”

“We won’t have children then,” Gendry promised. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but paused when he looked upon her face.

She wondered what she looked like to make him pause like that, but then he kissed her, softly, much more softly than he did in the Godswood.

Arya closed her eyes and kissed Gendry back. And she could hear the singer, even as the kiss took over every other sense, and she smiled.

_“And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree._

_She spun away and said to him,_

_no featherbed for me._

_I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,_

_and bind my hair with grass,_

_But you can be my forest love,_

_and me your forest lass.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like a day and I didn't edit so I'm sorry for any mistakes but as soon as I was done I was like, "BEGONE FROM ME CHILD."
> 
> Although I do like it haha. 
> 
> And I hope you do too.


End file.
